FO:NV Tales of the Mojave
by Wandering Leo
Summary: Five tales centering around a different Mojave wanderer and the connection they have with each other. {Epilogue to the unfinished "The Many Faces of a Wasteland Wanderer"}


The sun-baked sands glistened in the afternoon twilight, the smell of warm tar and blood radiated heavily off of the tattered road. A soft breeze brought along the tainted smell of harsh ash and mild radiation. Somewhere far off the lonesome cry of a coyote echoed throughout the desolate wasteland.

Vigilant eyes the color of the afternoon sky watched the lonesome road from the safety of an overpass, crumbling in most places with rusted metal poking out from its concrete tomb like ribs. A cigarette burned between the lips of the watchful figure, eyes forward and hands resting on the .44 magnum in her lap.

This was the fabled Courier Six, at least she used to be. That infamous title was usurped from her back when all this crazy stuff started happening. Honestly, she was just trying to help a friend out, let her take an easy run and keep the caps. Honest work for honest pay, it was the least she could do to pay her back. But no. Nothing's ever simple in the Wastes.

Though she supposed that was just her luck. Not only did she avoid a bullet wound and a vendetta against the jackass that did it, she avoided the attention of the superpowers fighting for control of beautiful New Vegas. Another pair of watchful eyes on her back would have thrown her over the edge.

A puff of smoke slithered through her nostrils, only to be quickly carried away by the bitter wind. She wanted to disappear, to make the long trek back North to be away from all this crazy talk of war and slaughter. But she burnt that bridge a long time ago...it was, after all, her idea to come to the Mojave. And to drag everyone with her.

Marilyn snorted lightly, eyes narrowed and lips pursed against her fading cigarette. She doubted sometimes whether life would have been better if they just all stayed in the Capital Wasteland, especially for Beatrix. Marilyn felt her heart clench at the mention of her name and a crushing wave of guilt consume her.

"How many peoples lives have I ruined through her?"

Marilyn spoke out towards the desert twilight, voice laced with grief and regret. In the Wastes, no matter what coast you're at, it was easier to talk to the world rather than leaving thoughts festering inside. Most die of that rather than bullet wounds.

"You've ruined enough by your hands alone, best not to think of those to add."

A strong voice echoed from the overpass, partially muffled and deep. A mans voice.

The cigarette fell from Marilyn's lips as she turned, it fell lazily from the overpass into the abyss of rock below. The voice was familiar to her, yet the shock of hearing it in person rather than through a recording was enough to make her skin crawl. The hunter has finally lost the joy of the hunt. Marilyn can finally face her demons.

"I have to admit, I'm not impressed with the facade you tried to pull to save your skin." The man crossed his arms as he spoke, the lower part of his face was covered by a re-breather leaving his eyes the only way to tell his expression. And right now they were burning with hate.

Marilyn felt sick, the fetid smells of this God forsaken place mixed with the expired cigarette she'd used to calm her nerves finally caught up with her. She wanted to cry, to scream, to follow that damn cigarette and fall to her death. But no, she'd been through too much to end it over this.

"I didn't play any facade," She finally admitted, blue orbs meeting his harsh brown, "I am Courier Six."

"And the innocent women garbed in Legion crimson, the other Courier, who is that?" His eyes crinkled in such a way that made his frustration much more palpable, it radiated off of him so strongly that it would eventually push Marilyn over the edge of the overpass.

"That women in Legion crimson is Beatrix Vance," Marilyn stated softly, "I let her take over my route so she could get some caps...I didn't know she'd get shot...it's not my fault..."

She sounded like a scolded child and it made everything seem so much worst. Maybe it was her fault, maybe that bullet was the final little piece of brain damage needed to push Beatrix off the deep end. Marilyn might have well took the shot at her and damned the Mojave with it.

"This isn't about your fault in regards to that petty lunatic running around with the Legion dogs, Courier," The mans eyes were on fire and the venom in his voice could finally be heard past his re-breather, "This is about the mess you left in the Divide, the innocent peoples lives you ruined."

Marilyn felt a knot in her stomach tighten, her eyes narrowed as she looked down at her feet, she couldn't face this mysterious man anymore. In the back of her mind she knew that was what this was really about. The mysterious messages left for her to find in the Mojave, the hints that in hindsight could only ever point to the Divide. She never wanted to face this demon, anything but this.

"Just now putting the pieces together, Courier? You were a challenge for me to find, even with my training as a frumentarii," The tone grew more and more venomous, Marilyn could feel it racing through her veins as he spoke, "I thought you'd be sharper to this little game of cat and mouse by now."

She choked back tears, she was a child again in the ruins of Babylon in the Capital Wasteland, she was weak and gullible and the world outside the stone walls was cruel. She believed everyone again, she did as they pleased, she was mule for vice and caps. A child of the streets growing up too fast.

"Well?" He spat at her, arms hanging at his side, hands in fists and a step closer with each word, "What have you to say for your sins, Courier?"

His growing disdain finally sent her over the metaphorical edge, hot tears raced down her cheeks from eyes too blue for her race, her hands raked through blonde hair that was a mess of sweat and grease, she knelled into herself and made herself small. The world is cruel and she was a child.

"I didn't know what I did, I didn't know what I was delivering," She was hyperventilating now, her speech was broken and that silver tongue she was so known for was rusting in her mouth, "I was just a kid, they used me, I was just trying to get enough caps to survive."

She was broken and pathetic now, any confidence was being drained from the imposing figure above her, "I'm so sorry."

A shuffle from above, the weight of a hand was placed heavily on her shoulder and didn't move. Through eyes tinted red Marilyn looked up at the man that had haunted her for so long. The fire in his eyes was smouldering, he never had considered the fact that the women before him, built up from legend and lore, was simply a child. A child who was mislead and used like so many others that now lay long dead in the ruins of the Divide.

This was a child of misfortune before him, and even when revenge had been fueling him all these years he had been no better than the myth that gave life to this poor ghost.

"Who are you?" He asked, not breaking eye contact with the child before him.

"Marilyn." She spoke in sharp breaths, unable to regain full control on her breathing just yet. This was all too much for her, she had entered this forsaken place with the mindset that only one of them would ever walk out.

"A relic from the old world," He nodded but not at her, he nodded slowly towards the vast wasteland that surrounded them. He stood suddenly, bringing Marilyn up with him and turned towards the distant Divide. Marilyn saw the flag of the old world on the back of his duster jacket and met his gaze. With a nod he added his own identity,

"Ulysses."

Marilyn joined him as he watched the distant glow of the Divide, ruined forever by Marilyn's misfortunate childlike sense of trust and further tainted by Ulysses blind sense of revenge.

"The Divide can finally sleep." Ulysses concluded, tone leveled and eyes gazing out into the melting Mojave twilight, "But the Mojave is just starting to awake."

Marilyn nodded in response, she knew already of the volatile burden that was leaking into the Mojave but she pushed it to the back of her mind. Instead she focused on the Divide, the demons she could finally put to rest and what she found. The growing sense of comfort in Ulysses presence on this otherwise lonesome road.


End file.
